But Ears Are Important
by Ioga
Summary: The usual: you have a human mercenary, and an elf mage, and friendly barbs turn into romance once there's enough near-death experience involved. This story is placed in Ancient Anguish, but can be read as general fantasy; no knowledge of AA is required.
1. In Alton's lair

_Author's note: Alton is not a creation of mine, but borrowed from the realms of Ancient Anguish. The elf mage character is *cough* loosely inspired by a friend I originally wrote this for, but this is honest fiction. Particularly the part where the narrator is forced to burn him to cinder in the end for insinuating otherwise. Just kidding! ;)_

* * *

I knew from the start that it was not going to be a walk in the park. Pilfering treasure from evil, powerful master mages was generally considered to be a bad idea, and there were definite rumours going on that Alton was not even particularly human, possibly more of a demonic being. But I had a foolproof plan, and was confident in my abilities.

It was not just any old treasure I was going after, either. This little adventure was the end of all adventures. I could easily retire after this, but most importantly, it would prove to any doubters that there was no quest I couldn't handle. After that it would be clear to all that if I said I would do it and put my mind to it, it was as good as done.

It was a bit of a shame that I didn't have my own mage with me for the trip, though. I did have one in reserve; we had adventured quite a bit together, but this time I had been forced to leave him behind.

Well, forced might be a strong word in this case. The arrogant bastard had thoroughly pissed me off, and the best way to get back to him would be to go and wave Alton's treasure under his delicate elvish nose. Which was also why he couldn't come help.

I savoured the thought of out-performing my pointy-eared friend for a moment. Rubbing in humiliations was an old sport between us, and we had developed it into fine art. It pushed us both to try to defeat ourselves. Sometimes the rubbing just went too far, and then there had to be retribution. Like this time. Luckily, it turned out I had just the thing in store for him. A nice artefact he'd not get a dime for when I'd sell it to my fence.

Back at Alton's lair, I had already avoided an endless stream of traps and guards, and was closing in on the chamber that hosted the treasure. Many well-paid informants had all pointed me in this direction. The timing was meticulously planned for Alton itself to not be around to witness the theft. I stopped on the doorstep for a moment, and stepped in.

I searched the room for more traps, and found a few that were simple enough to avoid. When I got to the right bookshelf, my hands were almost shaking. It was so close, I could reach out and touch it!

The only reason I didn't was that I found I couldn't move my arms.

I heard steps behind me and turned to look. My eyes went wide; the resident of the lair walked into the room. But... he was supposed to be out tonight; this must have been some kind of illusion.

The illusion begged to differ with my deduction. I was not even served additional time for recovery by an almost required, lengthy explanation of how Alton had used his evil mastermind to find me or lure me here, and what his plans were after making sure I lay in a crumpled heap. Instead, with a single wicked cackle, the mage made a mystical gesture and a very disillusioning rain of cutting blades fell upon me.

I managed to duck and roll to avoid some of them, but the ones that hit stung in a nasty way that had me quite convinced of the metal being poisoned. I had not come unprepared, however; I had an antidote with me. Now that my hands appeared to be functional again as well, I reached for a small vial that cost as much as a decent sword.

I was fast, but Alton was faster. As his next show of general unfairness and lack of sportsmanship, he let out a horrifying magic-enhanced shriek that made my vial - and any other helpful potions in my backpack - explode. While my ears were still ringing, I had to dodge a fireball that hit another bookshelf right behind me.

I found myself appalled at Alton's fiery treatment of the very treasures he so jealously guarded. I'm sure I would have come up with something witty to throw at him on the subject, but unfortunately I was kept busy with various different flavours of hurt that I wanted to avoid sampling too extensively.

When I happened to glance at the bookshelf, I noticed it was not even darkened where the fireball had hit it. I began to have a strong suspicion that this treasure chamber was actually a real live illusion-laced trap. The eventuality made me want to curse long and hard and colourfully.

After a while, Alton apparently decided he had been throwing around enough spells, and he shifted his grip on his staff. I lifted my blade against it, and parried the first hit. After that, however, it seemed that the mage was everywhere at once; blows rained down on me, and all I could see was a faint after-image of glimmer left behind by the staff each time it hit home with bone-crushing strength.

I tried to dash for the door, but my way was blocked. I tried to parry, but as the poison worked its way into my system, my arms moved more and more slowly. At some point I even coughed up some blood. I have to admit I was mildly surprised to see it was not green, corrosive or on fire, what with the tumult that was going on in my body.

Alton seemed to grow bored of the bashing too after a while. He took a few steps back when I staggered and hit a wall. The master mage started to weave some kind of complicated spell that I expected would not stop at being unpleasant. Unfortunately, my legs refused to move to step away from its path; I could only watch the extraordinary series of gestures that made it clear he was going to cast something particularly interesting at me.

I almost wished my arrogant elf friend were here to see this; he was always fascinated by new spells. I also gathered that even he would probably not be quite so fascinated to see this one from the target point of view. Would wipe that smirk off his face, with any luck. The thought was comforting.

Then all of a sudden, something materialized from thin air between me and Alton. The complicated spell was never released. I heard a vaguely familiar voice, but wrote it off as my imagination. A smell of garlic and acid filled the air, and I heard Alton hissing in fury. Apparently the master mage retreated to adjust to the new situation.

My knight in shining armour turned and held out a hand, which I took without hesitation. It was only when his suggestion to get us out of here finally registered in my head that I realized that my mind apparently wasn't playing tricks on me after all. It was the elf mage I had left behind today.

"YOU. I was just thinking about you!"

"How sweet. Was it happy thoughts?"

"Of course." Ah, no need to mention it involved amusement at his violent demise. He would know, anyway.

The elf promptly conjured up a magical doorway, pulled me through it and made it vanish as we got to the other side. We were in a comfortable, single-room hunting cabin. A few sets of deer horns on the wall made me suspicious, since I knew it was not an elvish custom to boast with body parts of dead animals. Following my confused stare, he clarified that the cabin was not his, he just had leave to use it as a getaway for the time being.

When the disorientation from a sudden relocation had settled, my iron will and a full dose of terror were no longer enough to keep me on my feet. My legs turned to jelly, and I only barely noticed being caught in mid-fall and promptly hauled to a bed. I was just about to formulate something clever about my disbelief that a skinny mage like him could even lift me off the floor. As another sign of life's unfairness, my barb was cruelly interrupted by pain shooting up from my cut and torn muscles. Fatigue drew dark borders on the edges of my vision.

I may have blacked out for the briefest of moments, since mysteriously enough my armour had vanished somewhere, my wounds were cleaned and long, nimble fingers were presently wrapping me in bandages. I disconnectedly looked at my battered body being tended, thinking that since he had now caught me without my armour, there would be no end to lecherous jokes to bait me with. The bitter smell of medicinal herbs filled the air, and I decided to sleep on it all.


	2. Hiding it out in a nice hideout

When I woke up, I was already feeling much better. I looked around in the cabin, made extra mysterious by the shadows of twilight and glowing embers in a small fireplace on one wall. I noticed that there was very little furniture. Notably, I was in lying in the only bed. I spotted the elf sitting in a corner of the room, legs crossed.

I intended to ask him something along the lines of "Don't you ever sleep?", but only managed a barely audible croak. Someone had sneakily turned my throat to sandstone. The elf seemed to catch my attempt at communication, however, because he got up, went to the fireplace, did something to dark objects lurking next to it and came to me with a bowl of warm broth.

I was on my way to gratefully accepting it, but apparently my arms, which were clearly all too tightly bandaged and loaded down with unseen weights to boot, would not move quickly enough to his infuriatingly demanding tastes. He opted to lift the bowl to my mouth. I drank without comment; it would not have made sense to complain, what with my vocal cords being parched dry and all.

When the bowl was empty, he set it aside. I worked on something simple and brief to test my voice with, and came up with a plain "Thanks." It didn't turn out half bad. There are good things to be said of the benefits of drinking before talking.

"Don't mention it." He touched my forehead with a cool hand, and peered under my blanket on the pretence of checking on my bandages. I rolled my eyes furiously at the gesture, and he grinned at me wolfishly.

I didn't ask how long I had been out, and he didn't offer it. When I unconsciously shifted my position slightly and didn't wince, he nodded to himself approvingly.

"You'll be fine in a day or few. The poison's out of your system, and the cuts didn't go too deep. Might want to sleep some more before trying to get up though."

That sounded like an excellent idea. I followed up on it.

The next day passed lazily. I was basically able to feed myself, but after a while my arms were shaking enough that I allowed myself to be pampered like a babe. I spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep, and ruminating on life.

We didn't talk much; I already knew the elf had an extensive repertoire of quiet ways to keep himself entertained, and he had been known to successfully make use of them in the past. I still was a bit baffled: he showed unusual restraint in consistently not throwing around flippant remarks about my unsuccessful quest or the embarrassment of having to be rescued. This had to be cleared up.

"Have you noticed how you're unusually quiet?"

I could see him raising a single eyebrow in the other end of the small room. Then he snickered. "Oh, I wouldn't want you reopening those wounds of yours after all that bandaging. Why, knowing your temper, I could just innocently comment on the weather and send you flailing into a hissy fit."

I dropped into the familiar flow of conversation without even giving it a second thought. "Yes, yes, bandaging a poor helpless woman, I'm sure that was a dreadful ordeal for you."

Smiling sweetly, he moved for the kill. "While it was difficult, I'm confident that the experience brought us closer together, dear." His stretched emphasis on "closer" and "dear" left the space gracefully open for all the dirty implications my imagination could possibly cook up. I couldn't help grinning broadly; he had already gotten my mind off failures and near death experiences, and replaced it with quite another type of disturbing imagery.

Even with an occasional snide remark passing between us, boredom still kept luring me towards brooding, so I was relieved by all interruptions to my half-dozing. At some point, the elf firmly announced it was time to change my bandages. This time I was stable enough to sit up during the operation, so I did.

Quite uninvited, the mental imagery from our earlier exchange came to my mind just when the mage's fingers were expertly prying off the bandages and leaving my upper body bare. I felt the mending skin on my back rise on goose bumps at his touch, and blood crept traitorously to my cheeks. I was almost desperately hoping he'd comment on it to break the tension, but he never even paused, as if oblivious to my discomfort. Since he stood behind me, I couldn't see his face either, but I knew there were few things he missed.

He spread some tingling salve to strategic places of his choosing, and then started wrapping me in new bandages. When he reached under my arms, I could feel his breath on my skin. It was completely unbearable; the inactivity of my convalescence, with a single soul to keep me company, and the sudden intimate physical proximity were all conspiring to drive me crazy. They were being all too successful at it.

When he was finishing the last wrap, I could take no more. I turned around, the muscles on my sides groaning at the offence, and took his hands in mine to pause them.

"Would you mind..." I began, but faltered slightly when continuing my movement should have me turn my head, to look at him in the eye. I decided not to stretch my processing capabilities too much. I finished the sentence with a "...if I kissed you right now?", then closed my eyes, lifted my head, granted him half a heartbeat in case he would insist on protesting, and then kissed him on the mouth.

He kissed me back gently, and rested his hands on the sides of my upper arms. The touch nudged me back to reality, and I opened my eyes and pulled back slightly to re-evaluate the situation - just in case his hands were deliberately placed to break the kiss after a moment.

He was wearing a pleasantly surprised smile, but I saw a glint of strain in the corners of his eyes - carefully masked but just visible. I'd seen him involuntarily make a face at a particularly nasty blow in combat several times, and knew exactly where to look for the minuscule signs of his very elvishly hidden discomfort. He was forcing himself for the sake of politeness; but for the most other people I know, it was the equivalent of squirming, looking away and possibly screaming for help.

My cheeks were probably going from red to purple already when I had to look the other way myself. If I hadn't given in to the full impact of embarrassment, I could have salvaged at least scraps by turning the entire thing into a mocking challenge, but that opportunity was lost now. I breathed a sigh of utter defeat. I was now officially done for.

He touched my neck just below the hairline, and said softly, "I'll go fetch some more water." With that, he left me to readjust to the new reality I had plunged into head-first - only to hit the hard bottom.

When he came back in, I had managed to recompose myself for the most part. We both smiled apologetically, and the matter was left at that. He didn't tease me about it even once, and on some occasions, I was even able to forget that anything had happened.

The moments were all too brief, though. I slept fitfully or not at all the next night, and the night after that. The elf's image haunted me whenever I closed my eyes. Our entire shared past turned to underline how I had been caught by his easy charms and quick wit from the start, but how we had both danced in circles around my heart all along. How our constant barb-throwing actually had possibly been the only thing to keep me on my guard against falling for him, and even it had failed in the end.

These girlish fantasies were not helping at all. I rebelled against myself, reminded myself a thousand times that I was being foolish and caught on an impossible dream. I knew all too many stories of people who failed to get over their impractical or impossible feelings, and as a result went on to ruin their lives, fawning after the unreachable.

I refused to go down that path. The elf might not love me back, but he was still a good and loyal friend. I swore to myself I would pull myself out of this hole and grow from the experience. I would not lock the feeling within myself to gnaw away at my heart and our friendship for the rest of my life. Words, and only words could release me! Who knows, I decided, he might even help me mourn, help me get me started on the way to becoming whole again. Yes, I would talk to him about this first thing in the morning.

After this resolution, I could finally sleep again.

In the morning, the moment was not right, however. I had a headache from not sleeping enough and felt cranky. I napped through the day, sleeping half of the time, generating good ways to start talking the other, and abandoning a thousand unacceptable openings, especially ones indicating that I had been spending any amount of time on this kind of analysis.

The next evening, however, I had had it with waiting and gathering up my courage. I watched him sitting on a mat by the fireplace for a moment, then got up and went to sit next to him. He smiled, but did not say anything. I suppose he figured out there was something I needed to get out my system.

Despite all my careful mental rehearsals, I found myself stumbling over words. The silence stretched on to unbearable lengths, of dozens of heartbeats at the very least.

"Back when..."

My throat constricted; I couldn't say it out loud. "We kissed?" Was it really we or just me? "I kissed you?" That at least sounded like he was not even there. No, this was a bad start.

"I mean, I've been wondering..."

Alright, here we go wondering again. I had been determined to avoid explicitly pointing out that I'd been brooding over this matter ever since, and went and said it anyway. I stingily congratulated myself on being hopeless. I noticed I had raised a hand to fidget with my lips; another gesture for generally burning away my overall credibility from both ends.

By then something within me had reached its boiling point. My hands were cold, my heart choking on itself, and I knew that if I had tried to stand up, my muscles would have turned to rock and I'd topple over like a statue. I was trapped in a hostile reality that currently was limited to the area of a single sitting mat; nothing outside it existed to me, nor could help me. Before I managed to finish thinking about exact words, I opened my mouth and blushed violently, but the sound was already on its way:

"Don't you want me?"

Up this close, I could see him tense ever so slightly, even though he of course hid it well. The smile that followed was warm, though, and rose all the way to his eyes. He lifted a hand to caress my cheek. I had of course completely forgotten we had any sort of limbs by now, so it took me a moment to process this gesture. Then I realized he managed to not look sad, horrified or resigned at all. A part of me was a bit disappointed, given that I was putting a lot of effort in spotting the first sign of negative emotion on his face.

He spoke softly. "How could I not want you?"

There I saw it again, a flash of strain in the corners of his eyes. But it was after he spoke the words, not before, and I could not help but believe that he did honestly mean what he said. It only confused me further. I grabbed his hand on my cheek, probably more tightly than I intended.

"But... why won't you just have me then?"

He hesitated for three heartbeats. I counted. Then it was as if the icy shard of pain melted from him, and he exhaled away his tension.

"I want to be certain that it is your heart that wants it, not your wounds or your fears. That is the only reason."

He let it sink in for a moment, and I was almost horrifyingly aware of how intensely he was watching me. It felt as if he could see through all and any layers of shields or protection I could raise around me. A cold shiver ran down my spine, and I realized very acutely that pointy ears were not by far the most alien characteristic of his kind. He was a full-blooded elf; his kind remembered history vividly because they had actually lived it themselves. He had been already fully grown on the day I was born, and he'd still have innumerable good years left after I succumbed to old age.

I had seen courters compete to awaken desire in their targets, looking for a weak moment to help catch the more difficult prey. And all this while, the man sitting next to me had been calmly waiting for my potential weakness to pass before even hinting that he might have dinner plans which included me on the menu. As if just accidentally leaving the kitchen door open would be enough to have a deer walk in and cook itself for the hunter! I blinked when I realized it was not too far from the truth in this case, either. I was already picking a spit for myself.

When he spoke again, there was an unfamiliar new rumble to his voice, a touch of huskiness I had never witnessed in him. The warm smile had never left his face, but it had a touch of wicked amusement now.

"See, if I enjoy you once, I'm afraid there will be no going back. I may not be able to avoid following my pleasure many, many times." He cocked his head and moved the fingers touching my cheek slightly. "It would be terribly sad if I were forced to hold you here against your will during that while."

I could tell he was lying. Right now, he did not look particularly sad at all at the prospect. I felt my stomach tense from a confounding mixture of desire and nervous excitement. When he turned his head to kiss me, I found I was already quite comfortable with the thought of being at his mercy.


	3. Unfair benefits

The next day, I woke up cradled next to the elf, one hand over his chest and a leg slung over his thigh. Apparently he had fetched a blanket to keep us warm some time during the night. His eyes were closed, but I doubted he was actually sleeping; after all, I had never once managed to sneak up on him during the state of cat-napping that elves seem to call sleep. It seemed that they used the word at all just for the sake of seeming culturally compatible to the rest of the world.

My hand wandered upon his delicious, white-golden hair, worn on a long braid to keep it out of the way. I rose to lean on my arm and started to gently pull the braid apart and see if he would stop pretending to be asleep.

I got almost up to the neck. When opening the remaining braid would have required moving his head, he opened his eyes to look directly into mine, wickedly entrapping me into their depths while all the while wearing a smug, knowing look. Oh yes, he had been simply waiting for the right moment to spring his trap and catch me off-guard. At this point, I was so distracted by the wondrous miracle that were his eyelashes that I missed his hands sneaking up on me until they reached the sensitive spots he was aiming for. In one smooth move, he switched our positions and pinned me under himself, never breaking eye contact.

The newly liberated mane of hair cascaded down his shoulders like a waterfall made of starlight. The sight made my throat constrict; it was simply not fair for a male of any species to look so accursedly beautiful. How was I supposed to even try to break free of his playful clutches when his very proximity completely overloaded my poor mortal mind?

He licked the tip of my nose mischievously to prove an unspoken point, then rolled down to lounge next to me, like a basking cat made lazy by the sun. I chuckled admiringly at the instant shifts between innocently harmless and lecherously seductive behaviour. But his smug attitude clearly called for a balancing jibe. I slid my hand over the sculpted muscles of his abdomen innocently, moved my lips right to his ear and quietly enquired in exaggerated mock worry, "Poor dear, are you still feeling too exhausted from last night to achieve anything but brief teasing?"

He let out an amused snort. "I was merely planning to give you a chance to save your strength until breakfast, as your responsible healer! But if it makes you feel better, I suspect I could use some more beauty sleep." When I rolled my eyes at the implication, he added, "After all, I believe you did not entirely forget to breathe just yet. I do try to uphold some basic standards for myself, you know."

The insolence bought him a poke in the ribs. Then I decided that a slight extension to the lazy morning snuggling would not be a bad idea after all, and settled comfortably in his arms.

I probably dozed off for a moment, but was roused by hunger. My stomach rumbled faintly, and I realized that there could theoretically be better ideas than sleeping on the floor when your muscles are a jumble to begin with. As I stirred, the elf took the opportunity to pry himself free, and declared he'd prepare some breakfast for us.

Now, were he a spectacular cook to boot, I think my mind would have simply crumbled at this point. Luckily, I knew him to be a skilled expert on perfectly simple fare. But although I could avoid swooning at the food being prepared, I did catch myself staring dreamily at the smooth movements and the free-flowing hair of the elf. The speed at which I was slipping from even minimal caution to being hopelessly smitten unnerved me somewhat; could it be that by next morning, I would already forget to breathe when he stared into my eyes? That would be indicative of other generally unbeneficial weaknesses that threatened to surface if this... development remained unchecked.

I preferred having somewhat more control over my life. Yet, when the charmingly smiling creature straight from the heavens descended upon me with breakfast, I suddenly could not worry about anything in the whole wide world any more. A wave of giddy euphoria swept me away when he crouched down to nibble my earlobe on his way to a sitting position. If there was some forward-oriented thought I could manage to focus on, it was whether the activities after breakfast should lean more towards wildly passionate or prolonged pleasures. I am not sure I could decide between the two, but we did end up finding some suitable balance between the two.


	4. Snakes in paradise

After a few days of bliss, it was time to get out to get a refill of supplies and to find another adventurous source of income. I was not too keen on leaving our little honeymoon getaway and facing the cold reality outside once again, but there was no helping it. My wounds were reasonably healed by now, so we could manage something reasonably easy in any case, but the mage suggested we visit our mutual acquaintance just to be sure. Jhenna was an expert on patching people up after botched jobs and missions gone awry, utilizing divine powers granted to her by Antana, a goddess of do-gooders.

Now, I could call her "mutual friend", except for the fact that she was on quite friendly terms with the elf, and chilled, if not downright icy, with me. That feeling was mutual, in any case.

But the stubborn mage would not take my no for an answer, so off to the temple of Antana we went. It was conveniently located at the cozy village of Neville, and I took the opportunity to pay a visit to my fence and to fish for some job offers or other opportunities at the Crossed Swords bar. The elf took the opportunity to go sell his services at the temple grounds, where recently patched-up adventurers were hungry for magical enhancements to help regain their battered confidence.

Using my exquisite skills of monetary persuasion, I managed to stumble upon a real genuine treasure map. Although the legend warned of guardian monsters, it seemed like a simple enough gig. Nevertheless, setting out into the wilderness would definitely require some preparations. Since it could no longer be avoided, I headed out to the temple as well.

As I was stepping into the temple gardens, I immediately caught sight of the healer – she was standing next to _my_ mage, hand resting on his arm, and laughing in that infuriatingly golden voice of hers at something he had just said. My gaze was freezing the air between us into icicles, but neither seemed to notice as they continued their conversation.

The problem, of course, was that Jhenna was a stunningly beautiful _female_ elf, and she knew her own worth. While the borderline arrogant air of confidence made the mage all more fascinating, it was unbearably annoying when coming from the she-elf. With her deep green eyes, long golden hair and lithe body, she was eerily beautiful in a way that only elves could ever pull off.

In short, the woman had "competition" written all over her – in milk and honey, no less. When the two of us exchanged barbs, we aimed to kill, not to disarm.

I eventually had to clear my throat to break the trance the seductive elf chick's antics had plunged the mage into. She had clearly been aware of my presence, since she had a sly, condescending smile ready for me right away.

The mage blinked in disbelief at my undetected entry. Unaware of the frost gathering between the ladyfolk around him, he turned to the healer and noted, "I should seriously be worried for my life, the way that woman can sneak up on me, but lately her killer instinct seems to have slightly dulled." He had the nerve to wink at me after that. I was quite prepared to strangle him right there and then.

The truth was, I was struggling with even the most basic ways of pushing him around right now, thanks to the incurable swooning affliction I was suffering from. It was an elementary and exploitable weakness to get so emotionally tangled with someone, yet he was flaunting it around a mortal enemy as if he were only commenting on the weather.

The problem, of course, was that he did not see her the way I did: as an evil pointy-eared bitch from hell. And one who, judging by the way she glanced at me after he had finished his comment, would not hesitate to use any and all weaknesses to cast me into the deepest pits of the underworld.

_Quod erat demonstradum._ The little vixen melted into a sweet, sugary smile for him, and cooed, "Oh, you be careful out there now, when she's supposed to be watching your back she might end up doing just exactly that. After all, it is such a nice, firm... back." She all but squeezed him to mark her territory. Right in front of me. The harpy!

After the bare minimum of clerical checking-up that I could get away with, I dragged the mage off with me on the pretence of needing to buy supplies. The way he stalled only made it more obvious that he had the hots for the elf bitch; by the time we got out my mood was so sour I could just feel the grass wither under my step.

As I was swiftly putting distance between us and the scheming rattlesnake, the mage was bound to notice my eagerness to get moving. "Eh, I know you're burning to get back on the saddle and everything, but I still think you should take it easy for this treasure hunt."

So, besides making fun of my killer instinct in public, he was doubting my abilities in private as well? This would not do. I made a mental note to shove the words right back into his exquisitely-sculpted face once I would pull his backside out of the fire after some guardian gargoyle would engage in melee with the scrawny mage.

But then we got to the cavern indicated by the map, and fought the creatures protecting the treasure, and I did not get a single chance of even pretending to protect his hide from harm. He dodged blows with divine grace, never needed any help, never paused in uncertainty, and was in general utterly unbearable.

Once we were out of the cavern with a chestful of bounty to process, I could barely contain my annoyance. Then, to add the final nail to the coffin, he indicated I should stand back while he disarmed the chest, since I was recuperating, and achieved with magic what had taken years of training for me to perfect.

I snapped. I accused him of being too perfect for his own damn good, just hauling me along for the ride while he did everything himself. I told him that never showing a single weakness made him artificial, and that I had trouble believing that he took anything seriously or meant anything he said, and that maybe he should be looking for company of his own calibre for a change. The list went on; by the time I was too drained to continue, my cheeks were wet and I was failing to entirely stifle the sobs in my throat. I pushed him away when he tried to touch me, and just sulked on the way back to civilization. I have no idea what went through in his head while he watched my back from a respectful distance, but my own mind was too full of indignation to really care in any case.

We got back to the village, I grabbed the items that would be transformed into coins, and went to see the fence. A good round of haggling with him improved my mood considerably, so I was almost prepared to forgive the mage for his... whatever. When I found him, he was arguing matters of payment with some guy I did not recognize. The sums they were throwing around were high enough to be disturbing; no one paid that much money for jobs that were any good for you.

Taking in the set jaw of the mage, though, I decided it would be fruitless to persuade him against taking the contract he had just negotiated. Particularly since I had probably spent my persuasion points for at least a week on calling him various unpleasant things. In any case, he seemed confident enough that we could pull it off, whatever it was. It would probably be an effective distraction from the earlier argument.

By the time we got to the base of the dark tower we were to raid, my unease was quickly growing, but I still did not have the balls to speak up against the plan. I knew exactly how it felt to be underestimated; it was not going to work to dissuade him from the mission by suspecting whether we or he could pull it off.

By the time we started to pick off the lesser guards, though, I fell into the old rhythm of combat and no longer had the time to be worried about unnecessary things. My mood improved considerably as a result, and was not even bothered by the mage fumbling one of his spells. Instead, I saw an opening for restoring our precious quipping balance, and took the opportunity. "Man, those spellbooks, they really don't come with usage instructions, do they."

It was the most elaborate thing that either of us had said since we left the village, but he did not falter while processing it. With a snort, he retorted, "They have a section on what to do with cheeky sidekicks." The lower-level guards did not stand even half a chance against us.

Moments later, we faced an opponent an order of magnitude more dangerous. The undead Chaos warrior was wearing a helmet with bone horns, and his dark red eyes glared through the visor. A spectral platemail protecting his body and a mighty battleaxe in his hands, the creature spelled trouble. Before I could seriously encourage the mage to reconsider leaving while we still could, the heavily-armoured goliath was already coming at us with disturbing speed.

The way the ghastly warrior handled the battleaxe, we would need all of the divine dodging capabilities we could get. Even with a stoneskin spell, the force of the blow could probably chop a limb right off. At least his platemail seemed to protect from magic about equally much as any other armour.

We fought like our lives depended on it, and managed to wear the monster down. At the last moment, though, the already lamed creature hurled a fireball that barely missed me and struck the mage straight in the chest.

* * *

_Author's Note: Ending in a cliffhanger – I have a bit more written already, but this spot is less depressing to pause at than the end of current writing. ;)_


	5. A chance encounter

With a gasp of horror, I dove after the downed elf and shoved us both out the nearest door. I slammed it closed behind me to slow the half-dead pursuer down, and then proceeded to haul the scorched mage down the stairs and out of the tower before I dared to stop and examine his wounds.

The semi-lucid idiot was busy cracking a bad joke about providing a proof for me of his having limits as well. As I was busy applying first aid, he mumbled something about how it was my turn to see him half-naked, then went unconscious. I panicked, picked him up again and ran all the way back to the Neville temple to find a healer.

As luck would have it, I ran into Jhenna near the temple entrance. At one glance at the mage, she blanched and pulled us to a room with some beds. Once I unceremoniously dumped the body on a bed, she pushed me aside and started to examine him while fidgeting on her holy symbol. She barked out a list of supplies she would need and sent me out with a furious "and by the gods, make it quick". Some of the words she was liberally colouring her commands with I was glad not to understand.

By the time I got back, she was deep in a trance, and I knew better than to disturb it. I lowered the things quietly and sat down to watch. For a long while, she just fervently mumbled her ritualistic pleas to the gods while gripping her holy symbol, and I could feel the air becoming thicker in the room.

Then, as the creepy atmospheric condensation reached its peak, the cleric's voice grew stronger and light started pouring from her holy symbol into the mage's broken and burnt body. I could not quite see the skin mending, because it was too bright to look at directly. But afterwards, even though the elf was still grimy, his chest was moving with the rhythm of steady breathing. His silver braid, which had miraculously survived the blast that badly seared his chest, hung limply from the bed, next to an exhausted-looking cleric.

The sight was almost peaceful, until Jhenna pushed herself upwards a bit, took a good glare at me, and hissed: "He'll live, but he needs to rest. Get out, and don't let me see your face here for at least a week."

I complied, and promptly snuck out to feel positively wretched somewhere else.

The next night, I slept fitfully, as my mind tried to process the nightmarish imagery of the day. The mage engulfed in flames. The smell of burnt elf in my nostrils during my panicked flight out of the tower. His blood and seared bits of skin sticking on my hands as I desperately tried to patch him up. His eyes fluttering closed in the middle of a horribly bad jest, when I was not sure they would ever open again.

The light of day, and the capability for rational thought that came with it, mostly managed to rid me of fears of the elf actually dying on me... Even if it was mostly thanks to my eternal competitor being around to actually save his life where I could not. It seemed that my body would not let go of the panic, though, and instead found new ways to upkeep my mental convulsions.

I could not concentrate on anything. When I closed my eyes, I saw her hand resting on his arm as she laughed melodiously at something he was saying. When I tried to sleep, I saw the two elves together, their sweaty bodies entangled in the throes of wanton lust. When I tried to eat, I saw them halving strawberries between two mouths and licking the juice spills off each other.

Yes, you might have said I was feeling a bit uncertain about what would be going on during the mage's convalescence, even if it might not actually involve fruit served off a well-toned abdomen. While I was willing to give him more credit than my imagination obviously was, watching the potential events with my less-than-confident mind's eye got old really fast.

To be honest, I was not entirely certain if it was just my fears my subconscious insisted on portraying, or if on some level I was _hoping_ that what I saw were the actual truth. They would be happier together, no interracial awkwardness and all that. Not to mention that I could go back to my normal existence rather than feel so incredibly sensitive about what my partner in adventure happened to do or not do on his time off.

Maybe what I was getting was an attempt at gaining enough momentum to reach escape velocity, get out of this madness once and for all.

Or maybe I was just too cowardly to accept my newfound emotional vulnerability and trust him with my heart, even though that would clearly be the next necessary step to let him any closer. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Meh. I was done with self-studying. I decided to distract myself with some easy work. After all, I was too well-educated with bad examples by now to not try anything dangerous while in an unbalanced state of mind, particularly not alone. My mind made up, I wandered into Tantallon, knowing that the busy trade hub would be sure to offer me something to do.

Luckily, the Commodities Exchange at the harbour area was open, and as usual, they were looking for some delivery help. I pulled some strings and Lou waved me through to Pembrook, who handled the more exclusive packages. I grabbed a few parcels and set off on a brisk jog to deliver them ahead of schedule.

After I got back from a round-trip to Nepeth, the Scythe camp and Neville, it was already dark. I had been jogging through the wilderness lost in vague thought, but at least my mind was not spiralling into jealous madness for a change. The fresh air and exercise must have helped. I could not even remember the faces of the people I handed the packages to, but I had a pouchful of coins with tips for speedy delivery to show for my troubles.

The next morning, I showed up for another set of parcels, only to run into an unusually acutely fuming Lou.

"You, kid," he waved his thoroughly-chewed cigar at me. "Can you read what it says here?" He tapped at a sign on the desk.

I glanced at it and frowned. It noted the office hours of the Commodities Exchange. "Yeah, why?"

"Just that I could have sworn it would take an illiterate troll to mess up three deliveries in one day, that's why!" He threw a crumpled-up paper at me, and I grabbed it, feeling a mild trepidation creeping in. I opened it to find a list of refunded deliveries: confidential messages delivered to Scythe camp, supplies to the bard at the Hall of Audience in Nepeth and blank parchments to Ancient Inn... they were my deliveries from last night, all right, only the pairings of contents to locations did not seem to match my memory at all.

Lou rolled his eyes at my incredulous look. "What on sweet Oerthe drove you to haul confidential messages for the King's court to Scyther orcs? Are you out of your godforsaken mind?"

I opened my mouth to argue against the seething broker, but then gathered my remaining wits and snapped my jaws shut again. After a hasty retreat, I decided I would just have to beg for easy and low-paying local deliveries for a few weeks, once he was on a better mood.

I wandered morosely towards the town gates. I paused to buy the latest newspaper on the way, only to find that I had already read that issue. While I was busy bemoaning my thoroughly lousy fate, I found a pair of feet had planted themselves in front of me. I looked up and saw a bearded chin, with a mouth that was smiling at me.

For a moment, I just stared at the smile blankly, then I realized it was attached to a face I knew. For a moment, the day did not seem quite so lousy after all.

I did not quite squeal with joy, but was not far from it. "Darbon! What brings you to Tantallon?" We vigorously shook hands and patted biceps.

"I was escorting a caravan through the woodlands. Right now my throat is parched, though, would you care to join me for a drink?"

I did not need further convincing, and followed my old mercenary friend to the Golden Ducat, the village pub. We found a table in the common room and ordered some of the local first class beer.

Soon enough, Darbon popped the inevitable question. "So, what's gotten you so deep into brooding you don't even recognize people in front of your nose? It's not a good trait to have for our sort, you know."

I groaned. There was no easy excusing my way out of this; Darbon and I went too far back for me to insult his intelligence with half-truths. So I started from the top, while carefully keeping an eye on his facial expressions, for when the disapproval would unavoidably start to show.

He was an easy person to look at, with broad shoulders and a friendly face. His reddish-brown hair and beard were slightly curly, and he had the cutest freckles. He was the exact opposite of the skinny elvenfolk in many ways, including the way his well-formed muscles bulged on his bare arms. His legs, which for now were shrouded by a pair of brown leather pants, were just about equally sturdy.

I hated to make his face marred by a frown, but that was what my narrative soon wrought. I produced a summary of what had happened in the last few days, with a necessary focus on what was making me so gloomy these days.

When I paused for comments, he sighed. "You know, nothing good ever comes of cross-breed affairs. It's old wisdom. Like best stick with like." When he noticed my face darken, he hastened to add, "I'm not saying you should feel bad for what already happened - it's not like you could have easily stopped it. But maybe this elf chick, what did you say her name was...?"

"Jhenna," I muttered in a somewhat acerbic tone.

"Yeah, her, maybe it's for the best if they do get hitched." He stared at me levelly. I pushed down my sullen self-pity long enough to try to figure out what his intended message was.

"You're saying... I should just let him go?" I realized I was not quite ready to accept something quite as drastic, even though the thought had repeatedly passed my mind as well in its less developed forms: those of self-doubt and thoughts of passive giving up; decision-making through procrastinative inaction.

His next words pushed me a lot closer to decisiveness, though. "It might end up saving his life. You know that elves aren't built for such intense emotion. They need to be cool to stay sane for such long lives."

I inhaled my beer and spent a while vigorously coughing it up. I had not even brought up my doubts of having caused the mage's distraction back at the tower, and he had struck them directly. My worst fear, the last few days, had not really been whether or not Jhenna would spin her spider web around my mage, but that I might have been the cause of his near-death. It was painfully clear that the elf's fatally distracted mood was timed soon after our argument - had I managed to push him into nearly getting himself killed with my petty outburst over not being able to tolerate his perfection?

Did I not really just _deserve_ to have the healer seduce him away from me? She would be able to appreciate him for what he was, not trying to force him to a mould he did not fit in. She could treat him as an equal, rather than someone to worship, or to put on a pedestal.

As painful as it was to admit, maybe we just were not cut out for a life together. Our differences were bound to get in the way, repeatedly, and if their repeated effects were half as drastic as today, it was too much to ask for either of us to endure.

I downed my beer and ordered another. Darbon looked at me with his compassionate, blue eyes and saluted my determined look solemnly with his own drink.

At some point, we decided that drinking would not solve any more of anyone's problems, and that some exercise was in order to burn out the alcohol from our systems. A good spar was exactly what I needed to get my mind off the depressing twists of interracial relationships. It took a lot more concentration than drinking, and was therefore also more effective as a distraction than a mug of beer.

With that, we paid our tab and left, heading towards the Tantallon Overlook. It would provide a stunning view for our little exercise.


	6. Working out

_Author's Note: While the other characters in this story so far are fictional, Bazhi is an actual player character, included here with permission. And yes, he is completely crazy. Shorter chapter this time, trying to improve update frequency a bit._

* * *

On the way to the village overlook, we stopped by at the fighter's guild on Glory Way to grab a pair of practice swords. Darbon ran into an old acquaintance, and they spent a moment sharing their stunned disbelief at the recent show of weapon skill that a dwarven cleric had demonstrated.

The grizzled veteran, called Bazhi, had apparently reached a level of ability with all manner of weapons that put most professional fighters to shame. Granted, a battle cleric from the warlike group known as the Scythe was nothing like the delicate healer Jhenna was to begin with, but even his kind generally stuck to blunt weapons like maces and flails, and rarely became particularly skilled in anything else. Darbon's friend amusedly remarked to me that soon we would have women rising to the same feat, if this kept up. I snorted at him and countered, "Or elves, for that matter!" with a wink to Darbon, who snickered into his beard.

I found the two fighters' amicable banter refreshing; while I was mostly ignorant of the specific goings-on of their guild, I felt their world was not so far from my own. Instead of being a third wheel, I was included in the conversation.

The realization brought a smile on my face as we took off towards our improvised training area.

The Tantallon Overlook stood on a cliff high above the ocean, providing a magnificent, uninterrupted view of the sea. On its north side was the high, wooden village wall, which connected to the walls of a mighty fortress on the north side of Tantallon. The east side had a parapet for the view.

We divided the blunt instruments of mock battle amongst us, and I threw a half-serious salute Darbon's way. He returned it with a smirk, and the fight was on.

I feinted and dodged his first few swings, and even got a few weak slices to connect with his arms. The weapon was somewhat different in dimensions to what I was used to, and after a while our differences in strength got apparent: He had accustomed to his weapon, using it like an extension of himself, and I was still trying to use the contraption to fulfil the role of my more familiar weapon.

But I had other advantages, and kept dodging and teasing him around the small area, all the while looking for an opening to sneak past his defences. My feints and distractions did keep him puzzled enough for a while, keeping us on equal ground. When I started to wear out somewhat and slowed down to stabilize my breathing, he took the opportunity to land his first lucky attacks.

After that I was mostly on the defensive. Or retreat, even. Once I managed to miscalculate where the wall was supposed to be, I found my moving space reduced to a minimum. In a blink of an eye, my practice sword went flying, and I found myself bodily pressed against the confining non-protection of the city wall.

His face was suddenly quite close to mine, I realized.

He was not looking me in the eye, either. His eyes were wandering slightly lower... and to my lips. I could feel his breath on my skin. I could smell the leather of his armour, and something more – the musky scent of his sweat.

He smirked at my subdued bafflement and drawled, "Have I ever told you that you have exquisite cheekbones?"

I managed to snap out of my daze and rolled my eyes at his suggestive tone. "Pshaw! What kind of a cheesy pick-up line is that?" I swatted him on the arm and pushed him away, then straightened up and brushed the dust off my armour while dragging my mind back out of the gutter.

Darbon took a moment to stretch his well-toned muscles with abandon, while I decided I needed to get an eyeful of the ocean instead. Then we concluded that there had been enough sweat and bruises for one session, and headed back for the fighters' guild.

Chatting amicably, we went to return the weapons to the storage racks, while Darbon waved greetings to some acquaintances popping by. I was once again baffled at how easy-going and sociable he was, despite sharing the somewhat isolating lifestyle of a mercenary. Or maybe it was just me who was the broody storm cloud, and his behaviour represented what was normal among regular people.

As we stepped out, I was just giggling like a little girl at something Darbon said, when my smile froze: I spotted the mage.

Instead of recuperating at the temple, as I had expected, he was up and walking; or leaning on the wall of a building on the other side of the street, in any case. He was also looking straight at us, and I suddenly became very awkwardly aware of my hand resting on Darbon's arm. It had wandered there at random and completely innocently. But this, obviously, would not be apparent to anyone else from the way I was blushing about it.

Why do these things always happen to me?


End file.
